


and one time drake got fired from the marines

by Anonymous



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 00:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Join my crew, Diez,” says the pirate, and gives an unconcerned grin.(Translation ofи один раз, когда дрейка уволили из дозораbyebobulochka.)
Relationships: Trafalgar D. Water Law/X Drake
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86
Collections: Anonymous





	and one time drake got fired from the marines

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [и один раз, когда дрейка уволили из дозора](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268873) by [ebobulochka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebobulochka/pseuds/ebobulochka). 

“Hey, Officer Diez—what are you, a lieutenant? Captain? Actually, what’s it to me. Join my crew, Diez,” says the pirate, and gives an unconcerned grin.

Drake throws him one brief look, checking to make sure that the ropes are still in place, and goes back to his folder. Brigandage, robbery, assault of Marine vessels, mutilation of civilians, resisting arrest; Drake gives the pirate another once-over, and thinks that he doesn’t look worthy of his rap sheet. Skinny, disheveled, a few years younger than Drake himself, he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week and has consequently cracked. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, testing the strength of the knots. Upon noticing that he’s being watched the pirate grins wider, and rocks showily back in the chair, leaning back with one foot braced against the table.

Drake feels a fleeting urge to give him a shove and send him crashing down to the floor together with the chair.

Rocking forward—the chair bangs down onto four legs—the pirate leans over the table, peers into Drake’s eyes, and says lowly, barely above a whisper: “I’m serious. Think about it.”

He smells like gunpowder and blood, and the scent makes Drake want to bare his incisors, drag the pirate in by the collar, and tear his throat out with his teeth.

Drake shoves his free hand into his pocket, feeling for the smooth fragment of seastone that lies there. The dinosaur goes grudgingly silent.

“Name,” says Drake, dipping his quill into the ink. His fingers don’t tremble over the page.

“Tra-fal-gar Law,” drawls the pirate, squinting. “Remember it well, Diez. You’ll be hearing it a great many times yet.”

Drake doesn’t dignify this with a response. This century is endowed with too many pirates; half of them get caught before they even manage to get past the borders of their home country, and every other one that he captures insists that their name will ring throughout the world. “Tra-fal-gar Law” has managed to cause more trouble than the average rookie, so the only place he’s going anytime soon is prison, whatever he might believe.

Drake has never been more wrong: Trafalgar Law disappears out from under his guards and off his ship barely two minutes after the interrogation.

*

And gets caught again a week later, with such ease it’s like he’s giving himself up on purpose.

This time before starting the interrogation Drake spends a long time looking him over, frowning, Trafalgar Law looking insensibly pleased with the attention. In the past week he’s managed to break into the local Marine base, cause a not-insignificant stir, set fire to the base’s document archives, and escape without so much as a scratch. He’d only been caught the following day, trying to destroy a Marine ship anchored at the island’s north shore.

“You must really hate the Marines,” Drake says at last, and Trafalgar Law smiles wider.

“There’s no need for you to take it so personally,” he says. “My offer still stands.”

“To join your crew?” clarifies Drake. “What for? Better for you to stay. I’ll personally ensure that you won’t get bored.”

Trafalgar Law barks a hoarse startled laugh. The monster under Drake’s skin seethes from the mere memory of that laughter for a long time, even after Trafalgar Law gives gives them the slip while in the personal custody of Captain Diez Drake.

*

Half a year later Trafalgar Law becomes known as the Surgeon of Death, captain of the yellow submarine and talking polar bear, one of the most unpredictable pirates in the North Blue, and—worst of all—bearer of the Ope-Ope devil fruit. _Worst of all_ because Drake had personally ordered a seastone test back during that very first arrest, and still found himself among those fooled.

(_Worst of all_ because the Ope-Ope fruit had disappeared without a trace that day on Minion Island, but that shouldn’t matter and—with a minor application of will—really doesn’t.)

*

Drake reaches out, hooks his fingers in the neck of Trafalgar’s shirt, and yanks it open to bare the inked heart across his chest.

Trafalgar Law raises his brows.

“Shut up,” Drake says. Trafalgar closes his mouth and says nothing, but the nasty grin on his face speaks louder than words.

A stifled snort carries from among Trafalgar’s henchmen.

Drake tells him, “This is the most ridiculous identifying mark I’ve ever seen. Who would ever even notice it’s there?”

“Oh, the captain likes to undress before he dismembers,” comes from where the tied-up Heart Pirates are seated around the corner. The giggling grows louder.

Drake quickly squeezes the fragment of seastone in his pocket, not giving the lizard a chance to tear to the surface at the unwelcome image of a bare and blood-smeared human body.

“Shachi,” says Trafalgar Law, calmly, without so much as turning around, “I’m going to cut out your tongue.”

“Sorry, Captain!” acknowledges the corner, tone squeezed, and then, unable to resist, adds, “In the nude?”

Drake unclenches the hand in his pocket: crosses the cabin in two purposeful strides and roars, showing his incisors, which are long, sharp, and uniquely horrifying in a humanoid face. Trafalgar’s polar bear bares his teeth in return, live hot meat under a thick hide.

Drake sucks a breath in through his nose, and slowly puts away his teeth. The cabin is silent as the grave as he returns to the table, sitting down to prepare the papers.

“Name,” he says.

_Don’t-tell-me-you-forgot_ is plain in Trafalgar’s eyes, in his sneer, in his whole entire expression, but all he says aloud is a dutiful, “Trafalgar Law.”

“And what, by the devil of the five seas, are you still doing in the North Blue, Trafalgar Law?” asks Drake, balefully curt. “You have a ship. You have a crew. You have power. They’ve even put a bounty out on your head. So why the hell are you still here, and not headed full sail for the Grand Line, where people like you belong?”

“I’ve got one last piece of unfinished business,” Trafalgar says, shaking his head. “The Grand Line won’t go anywhere.”

“It will,” Drake throws out. “From you—it will.”

“Of course,” sighs Trafalgar, dispiritedly. “How I could I forget.”

*

Drake thinks at first that he’s dreaming, because when he opens his eyes Trafalgar Law—the very one that ought to be chained up in the brig—is sitting in his bed, straddling Drake’s hips. He’s heavy and warm, and Drake is missing his hands.

“Sorry to wake you,” says Trafalgar Law, drawing his knuckles lightly along Drake’s cheek, almost gentle. “But I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. Wouldn’t want to appear rude, you know.

“You asked me why I’m still here and not on the Grand Line. The answer is here.” Trafalgar lifts the file folder that lies on the covers beside him, shows it to Drake. “I turned over every rock in the North Blue in search of this information, and it turns out you’ve been carrying it with you aboard your ship the entire time. Unkind of you, Drake.” The last bears a false note of reproach.

“When did we switch to first names,” asks Drake, hoarsely. It’s not what he should be asking, but it’s the first thing that comes into his head.

Trafalgar gives a soft laugh.

“We should have a long time ago. We’re such good friends, after all—and since we’re such good friends, I’ll give you a piece of advice for the future: more attention to the handcuffs. You’re fortunate it was only me, this time, but what if,” and Trafalgar leans closer, nearly breathing the last, “what if it had been someone _dangerous?”_

“When did you swap them,” rasps Drake, his voice refusing to obey.

Trafalgar smirks at him. “If you reveal the secret of the trick, it stops being a trick—but I suppose I can show you where your cuffs ended up.”

And lifts by the chain a pair of manacled severed hands, his grin growing more self-satisfied still.

Drake watches as the fingers of the hands clench into fists.

“Don’t worry,” Trafalgar says, “I’ll leave them for you. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the thought of holding onto them.” He tosses the cuffs on the bed next to Drake, hands and all.

“And one more thing,” he says, leaning very close indeed; and just then Drake is even grateful, in some still-asleep part of his brain, for the seastone cuffs holding back the monster inside. “We’ll doubtless meet again, Drake, and when we do,” Trafalgar’s breath rolls hot over his skin, _“quit looking at me like you want to eat me.”_

And then, pulling slightly back to give him a baleful, almost fastidious look: “Because that looks like a promise. And I _hate_ promises that nobody intends to fulfill.”

It’s very cruel of him to depart, after that, and leave Drake with no hands—and no possible way to jack off.

*

When they meet again in truth, Drake doesn’t look at Trafalgar like he wants to eat him. Doesn’t look in any way at all at anything, barely breathing, and anyway they shouldn’t have pulled him out of the sea, Bepo complains, he’d told the captain so, only the captain hadn’t listened, and now Bepo has to share his fish even though they don’t know whether that _thing_ even _eats_ fish and—

—and things might have continued in this way for some time, but the kid with the stupid hat tells Bepo to stop being jealous, and Bepo gives a gloomy apology and leaves, throwing Drake one final distrustful glare. The kid starts asking where it hurts, feeling Drake’s wrist, counting his breaths, even going so far as to shine a light in his eyes, overcome with doctorly enthusiasm, and Drake pushes him off, irritable.

“Where’s your captain?” he demands.

The captain’s gone into town, and won’t be returning ’til nightfall. Drake agrees to an additional dose of painkillers, and plunges into sleep.

*

When he wakes again it’s full dark, and Trafalgar Law sits nearby, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Dancing firelight flickers across his face, and when Drake moves Trafalgar turns his head towards him.

For half a minute they stare silently at each other; then Trafalgar moves to sit nearer.

“How do you feel?” he asks, and presses his fingers to Drake’s neck, feeling for his pulse. Belatedly, Drake tenses, but this time Trafalgar’s hands smell like medicine and paper, and the damned picky carnivore doesn’t even try to force its way to the surface.

He says, shortly, “Better,” and Trafalgar nods. Assurance and calm are strangely incongruous on his face; Drake’s too unused to seeing Trafalgar the way he allows himself to be when it’s him making the rules.

“Couldn’t plunder enough for an inn?” asks Drake, and Trafalgar finally grins in a way that’s almost familiar:

“Too dangerous to go in the city. The whole place is up in arms today—apparently some valorous officer of the Marines perished heroically in the line of duty, defending a tradeport from pirates. The citizenry thirsts for pirate blood with which to quench their sorrows.” For a moment he’s silent, and then: “They really went all out, firing you.”

“No shit,” agrees Drake, and automatically touches a hand to the place the spot under the bandages where his wound pulses weakly with pain. “Why did you interfere?”

“Anyone who’s against the government is on my side,” Trafalgar informs him, and gulps from his mug.

“Against the government,” repeats Drake, watching the bob of his adam’s apple.

Trafalgar finishes downing his drink, wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and gives him a nasty false smile. “Of course, Drake. Do tell me all about how they rewarded your meritorious deeds with a sabre to the liver—what deeds was it, by the way?”

“None of your business,” grimaces Drake. Trafalgar shrugs his shoulders with put-on disinterest. “Tell me instead what you intend to do with me.”

“With you?” says Trafalgar, surprised. “Let you go, of course.”

His grin is so charmingly innocent that Drake feels the wave of gleeful menace splash hot against his ribs even before Trafalgar finishes, “After all, it would be terribly ungrateful of me hold you captive when you let us go so _many_ times.”

Now he’s gone and done it, thinks Drake, and jerks forward, ignoring the pain: closes his fist in Trafalgar’s shirt, and drags him violently in.

He means to devour him. He really does. Means to succumb to the bloodthirsty fruit, to sink his teeth into Trafalgar’s neck and not let go until Trafalgar stops moving, or else starts begging for him to stop—but the fruit is too honest for that, and declines to indulge his self-delusion. So there’s nothing left for Drake to do but to kiss him, so as not to look the fool—and also just because he wants to, even more than he wants to tear out his throat. Though he could go for that, too, the throat, and the begging, and . . .

“Or, if you don’t want to leave,” breathes Trafalgar, running his tongue over the spot where Drake’s bitten his lip, “you could always still join my crew.”

They both know that Drake will do no such thing, but just as Trafalgar can’t resist offering, neither can Drake resist asking: “And is it allowed, on your crew, for subordinates to screw the captain?”

Trafalgar’s heart skips a beat under his palm, but a voice rings out from beside the fire before he can answer. “Hey, I’m interested to know the answer to that question, too!”

Trafalgar blinks; closes his mouth, opens it again, and turns around to shout back, “Watch goes to Shachi for the next month!”

“What for, Captain!” cries Shachi. “It was just a joke, I don’t even like you!”

“Plus five nights for ‘don’t like you’,” promises Trafalgar, vengefully.

And Drake can’t help but dissolve into laughter. 


End file.
